


i have your desire anchored to mine

by shipatfirstsight



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon - Book, F/M, Introspection, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, does this count as Mutual Pining?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipatfirstsight/pseuds/shipatfirstsight
Summary: Anthony hadn’t looked at his soulmate mark in years
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield
Comments: 26
Kudos: 272





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble mostly for myself cause I was like, you know what would make Anthony more tragic? if he had a soulmate mark that's what. Not super fleshed out, but wanted to write something because the idea wouldn't leave me.

Anthony hadn’t looked at his soulmate mark in years--not since his father’s death if he was being honest. Before then, it had been something to hope for, to look forward to. And in the intervening years, he’d watched his mother rub at, and cover, and stare and stare and _stare_ at her own mark--one that fades with every passing year. He won’t do it to his soulmate--can’t do it. He cannot face the thought of leaving them in pain the way his mother is in pain.

He ignores the sense of...incompleteness that follows him, and can only hope that whoever out there is cruelly fated to be _his_ doesn’t feel the same. Better to never know each other he repeats like a mantra.

He’s been careful over the years to never be around his mother with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, or if they are to make sure she can’t see the mark. It’s cruel, he thinks, looking at his wrist and the mark there, that he’s been marked with the very thing that killed his father. A thrice-damed _bee_ on the inside of his wrist, looking completely benign and completely incapable of bringing a grown man to his death. 

Not for the first time, he wonders if he’ll go the same way, and almost laughs aloud at the further cruelty fate has forced on him. A _bee_. It’d be funny if it wasn’t quite so tragic.

* * *

Kate realizes, two weeks into their marriage, that she never did bother to look for a soul mark on her husband. It didn’t seem to matter when he was courting Edwina because...well, just because. Kate just _knew_ they weren’t meant to be together, and it had surprised no one that Edwina and Mr. Bagwell had matched marks. 

Anthony would never love her, he’d made that much clear, but....he’d never asked to see her mark either, which somehow hurt more. Did he already know who his true soulmate was? If she was unacceptable, the ton would have forgiven them if they were marked. There could be other reasons, she knew--her mother and father had matching marks, but he and Mary hadn’t. It hadn’t stopped them from loving each other though, so if he’d _lost_ his soulmate, why couldn’t he learn to love her?

And she too--she’d never really wanted to look for her soulmate. And she...she loved Anthony, she knew. She loved her husband. The little bee on the inside of her wrist meant nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so:  
> 1) I'm very sorry this took so long! The post office definitely lost the new copy of The Viscount Who Loved Me that I ordered, but my mom sent me my old copy, which I just got and read yesterday.
> 
> 2) I think all the direct quotes from the book are either italicized or explained as like ~he remembered thinking earlier~ but all credit for both goes to Julia Quinn. Thanks for reading and supporting the first chapter, and hopefully this is Decent. 
> 
> This should be it for this fic!

He’d kissed the wrong wrist on his-- _their_ \--wedding night. 

He’d been too distracted to _see_ , not expecting--she hadn’t wished to ever marry! That’s what she’d told him. He’d thought she was unmarked. And he’d trained himself not to look for a matching mark on any woman; it was impossible he’d reminded himself, over and over and over, and far too painful for him to contemplate.

As Anthony races from his own lodgings back to Bridgerton house--leaving his confused and pained wife alone in their bed--he can’t help thinking that he should have _seen_. 

There’d been that moment when Kate was gleefully trouncing him at pall mall--with his lucky mallet--all those moments when she’d raised her face to the sun and he’d felt the tightening of lust and something _more_ , and all the while he’d only been able to think that he couldn’t feel those things, not for _this_ woman. Deep down he’d known, though, that there was something there, and he’d been too afraid to examine it. Too afraid to examine why he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her, or dreaming of her, or _looking_ at her. 

He can be forgiven, he thinks, sitting at his desk, and holding his head in his hands, for not noticing before. Every interaction before their marriage, Kate was wearing gloves, or he was distracted by her face, and the absurd desire from their first meeting to argue with her. Ruefully, he remembers what he thought all those weeks before when he’d told his brothers his plan to marry. “ _He wouldn’t have found the love of his life or his soulmate even if he had been looking for her. Most men didn’t.”_ And he hadn’t wanted to. There was no reason for him to look. 

Anthony had been distracted by her, by everything about her, everything but the one thing. Her horrible caps, the light in her eyes when she argued with him, that she was as protective of Edwina and he was of his siblings.

That moment, though, in his office when he’d felt the full power of her disdain, the full power of the spark between them, he should have known then. Something in him had known--and pushed her away, even as he assured himself that he could marry her sister and deal with Kate for the rest of his life. And what was a few short years, he’d thought. 

And then later, the night they’d found themselves in a compromising position--and he’d been so happy then, to have no choice in the matter, to have no excuses to tell himself that he had to marry Edwina--he’d had to go to her in the garden. _Magic in her form_ , that’s how he’d thought of her walking along, and he’d had to join her. His lack of enthusiasm when she’d given him her permission to marry Edwina. His absolute panic when that bee had stung her, the fear that he would lose her too, the same way he’d lost his father. He wouldn’t, he realizes, have reacted that way to just anyone getting stung. He’d been in love with her then, and unable to recognize it, but also unable to lose her. Anthony--afraid to die the same way as his father--had been more afraid for Kate. 

He’d fallen in love with her before he’d seen the mark. He’d wanted her, desperately, totally--not just out of lust for her, though that was part of it, but in everything. He’d wanted _her_ to be his wife, his perfect match, the kind of woman, the _exact_ woman, he would have married if he hadn’t felt the weight of his own mortality. But that tug, that spark--it was exactly how his father had explained how he’d known that Violet was his match before he’d seen her mark.

Anthony hadn’t wanted to stay away from her--not from the moment he’d met her. And after they’d married, that wonderful interlude in the parlor when she’d lept into his arms had been because he didn’t _want_ to be away from her. He missed her when he was away from her, and forcing himself to stay away hadn't changed that.

And their wedding night--he hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that it had never been as good. Kate made him feel complete, and he should have at least _suspected_. 

Hours ago--what felt like _years ago_ \--he’d realized that he loved his wife. It was unthinkable, knowing that, that he’d ever thought he wouldn’t, simply by trying hard enough not to. Anthony wanted that long--and lusty--novel with Kate, and it had broken his heart when he’d thought he’d only _loved_ her. To know both, that he loved her and she was soul marked to match his soul mark, that whatever in the universe decided these things _knew_ that they’d be each other’s perfect match, broke his heart.

He hadn’t wanted to leave _her_ through death even before he knew. He’d wanted to be with her forever before he knew, even if that was impossible, and unlikely. He had less than a decade with her, if he was lucky. And Kate--his beautiful wonderful Kate--had stretched her left hand as she fell asleep after the need for her had overtaken him after he’d realized he loved her-- _l_ _oved her_ \--and he’d been fascinated enough with watching her to track the movement, to see the small little mark when she’d raised her arm briefly over her head. Unmistakable, even in its relative brevity, and he’d caught her wrist and examined it, not wanting to believe. Not wanting, still, to _see_ , but there it was, the twin mark to his own.

A tiny little bee.

Ironic that, he thinks now, downing another glass of brandy--was that the fourth or the fifth since he’d dashed madly out of his own house, his own bed?--that a bee was what had caused them to be married. 

And then she’d given voice to his own thoughts, “ _I hope we’ll be like this always_ ,” she’d sleepily murmured, “ _Always and forever_.” 

How selfish of him he thinks now, to want to ruin her for other men, to want to be the only man to see her naked. The thought of her, alone for the rest of her life, breaks his heart yet further. No matter how much he drank, no matter how hard he tried to think about other things, all he could hear, still, was _always and forever._

* * *

He’s not ready to see her when she finds him in his office the next day in Bridgerton House--he’s not ready to give Kate an explanation for why he fled, and there’s really no other way to put it. He hates that he’d so obviously hurt her, hates the confusion and pain in her eyes, and he raises his left hand to run his fingers through his hair.

Her gasp makes him realize his mistake.

* * *

Her eyes narrow on her husband’s exposed wrist. He’d rolled his sleeves up, she thinks dispassionately, detachedly, and she’d tracked the movement of his hand and wrist, or she would have never seen the mark there. 

Never, never, never, in all her imaginings, had she thought that the mark, the mark she hadn’t looked for, would be the match to hers. And she realizes now why he’d left, remembers that he’d grasped her wrist last night. She’d thought he was making good on his promise from their wedding night, to study her wrist if he wanted to. 

“Is it that bad?” she asks quietly, and then doesn’t give him a chance to answer, “I know you didn’t want me, but did you have to run away just because of some marks on our wrists?”

“Kate--”

“No,” she shakes her head, a small sound, almost like a laugh but lacking any trace of happiness leaving her lips. “You made it very clear that you didn’t want to fall in love with me--that you didn’t want _me_ to fall in love with _you_. You made your opinions very clear. And now I find that you fled our house because--”

“It’s not like that--”

“Then what _is_ it like, Anthony?”

“ _I don’t want to go into this now._ ”

“And if I do?”

He shakes his head now, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “ _Go home, Kate._ ”

She knows that the pain is written across her face when he looks back at her, but she finds her eyes keep falling to his left hand. She can’t see the mark anymore, but she knows it is _there_ , and she knows this, his running away and coming here, his unwillingness to talk to her, has something to do with their twin marks. 

“ _Go_ ,” the word seems torn from him, and then again, “ _Just go._ ”

She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what _he_ could say that would make her hurt less. “ _Anthony--_ ”

_“I need time to think.”_

_“What could there possibly be to think about?”_

_“Don’t make this any harder than--”_

“I don’t see what’s so hard about it, Anthony.”

“ _Give me a few days,_ ” the edge in his voice--she doesn’t know what it is, what it means. “ _Go. Go now_ ,” he says in that tone he takes when he’s issuing orders. _“I’ll see you later.”_

And Kate does the only thing she can do. She turns and walks away.

* * *

All he can think about is the pain on Kate's face, that he put it there, that she thought he didn't want her--that he ran away from her because he didn't want her to be his soul mate.

He did, he _so_ wanted her to be his soul mate, he was so glad that she was, and he hated his selfishness for that, but he...she _was_ his perfect match. It made sense, now that he knew. 

Colin's voice cuts into his musings. " _Just go home and tell her that you love her. What could be more simple?"_

He hates it when his brother's are right, but they are, and he wants to go home, wants to tell Kate he loves her and he wants her, wants to enjoy whatever time he has left with her. He wants to get to love her, because he does love her and he can't go through the years he has left without telling her.

* * *

Kate wonders how it's possible to be in so much pain, and feel so content at the same time. If she hadn't realized--if he hadn't told her, as he pulled her from the wreckage of that carriage--that he loved her, she would have known from the way he's fussing over her now. The way he can't quite stop touching her, on her hand, or stroking her hair, or kissing her softly on her lips. The way he looks at her, his heart in his eyes. And she remembers the tears that had filled those very same eyes when she'd regained consciousness to hear him saying that it was supposed to be him that died, and she knows, knows with a certainty she never expected to have with him, that he loves her. 

And she loves this man. 

So she takes his hand in hers, stroking over the bee there as he tells her his fears, and tries to understand them. 

And as he finishes, " _I fell in love with you, and then I knew._ I saw your mark and I knew. _Even if I am right, even if I'm fated to live only as long as my father did before me_ , _I'm not doomed_." His kiss in his pause is so soft, so tender. " _I have you, and I'm not going to waste a single moment we have together._ "

She can't stop the smile that spreads over her lips, smiling wider when his lips turn up in return. " _What does that mean_?"

" _It means that love isn't about being afraid that it will all be snatched away. Love's about finding the one person who makes your heart complete, who makes you a better person than you ever dreamed you could be_. _It's about looking in the eyes of your wife and knowing, all the way to your bones, that she's simply the best person you've ever known_. And it's being so happy that you get to love the woman who's also your soul mate."

" _Oh Anthony_ , _that's how I feel about you_."

He presses another kiss to the soul mark on her wrist, and she shivers at the tingle that goes through her. She turns her gaze away from him briefly to glare at her injured leg. She just knows he's going to be ridiculously, wonderfully cautious around her until she's healed.

Anthony turns her face back to his with one finger, placing a longer kiss on her lips, that's no less gentle than the last. "Love is also being glad I fell in love with you before I knew we were soul marked. I have no doubt I would have loved you anyway, but I'm glad anyways."

"So am I," she says, smiling again. 

" _I love you, Kate. I love you so much_ ," he can't seem to stop saying it, and she can't seem to stop smiling wider in response.

"I love you too."

He smiles, and it has just enough of a triumphant edge to make her scowl at him, but only briefly. Because he says it again, softly, against her lips, "I love you, Kate."

He torments her, telling her what he'd like to do if her leg wasn't injured, and she silently vows to get her revenge, even as she kisses him back when he kisses her over and over, whispering their love to each other. Her revenge will be just as fun for him as it is for her, after all.

* * *

Anthony climbs onto their bed, as gingerly as possible, needing to be closer to her, to remind himself that she's still with him, that she loves him and he loves her. He can tell she has plans to get back at him for tormenting her with what he'd like to be doing with her, to celebrate both that they're in love and soul marked. He looks forward to whatever Kate is planning--almost as much as he looks forward to making good on his promises. Instead, for tonight, he twines her hand in his, and brings her wrist up to his lips. He kisses the mark there, and feels content. 


End file.
